George gave them a lopsided grin. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the prrroo—” “—fessional croissant bakers!!” John yelled over him, making Paul jump. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the croissants! And the chocolate! And the absence of your mouth,” he directed a freezing glare at George, whose whole face brightened up. “There ye are,” he said with a content voice, while Paul was staring blankly into space with a confused frown, repeating “professional croissant bakers” under his breath. “Ye’re all bein’ all weird, like.” “Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that we’re living in an actual soap opera,” Ringo muttered.

1967